


Doing Domestic

by Raynbowz



Series: An Interlude of Time [13]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:47:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raynbowz/pseuds/Raynbowz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor's in over his head when Jothan becomes ill.  How will he manage?  Thirteenth in a series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doing Domestic

Doing Domestic

A Doctor Who story

 

The Doctor bounded into the bedroom, a grin on his face.  “All right, you've had seven-point-five hours of rest; it's time we were off.  I thought we'd check out Cumboloharfatwelneepodulmitharnis.  Incredible flowers and the best honey in seven systems, though it's best not to get stung if you can avoid it—the bees are huge and the allergic reaction would be just awful.”  He looked over to the bed; he assumed the lump under the blankets was his lover.  “Time's wasting, Jothan!” he said cheerily.  “Get your shower and some breakfast and come.  This will be absolutely fantastic . . .”

At last he heard a mumbling from under the covers.  “Five more minutes . . .”

“Nonsense!” the Time Lord responded expansively.  “There's flowers to see and honey to sample.  Let's go; we don't want to miss it all.”

A hand appeared from under the pile of blankets and waved in a gesture of dismissal.  “Just five more minutes, please . . .”

The Doctor's grin slipped a little.  “Well, I suppose a little delay won't matter.  I'll just wait in the Console Room for you, I guess.”  He backed out of the room and headed down the hall.  Once he was in the Console Room he set himself to reset the outer screen controls so they could get a look at a planet before stepping outside.  He'd been meaning to fix that particular glitch for a while but had never gotten around to it.

Forty minutes later he finished up and put the Tesla ratchet back in the toolbox.  Surprisingly, his companion had not appeared.  He crawled out from under the console and stretched, then headed for the kitchen.  The medic must be having breakfast, he reasoned.  He went into the kitchen and looked around.  No Jothan.  He went next door to the bathroom, thinking the man might still be in the shower.  Still no sign of his comrade.  Setting his lips in a thin line he turned around and marched back to the bedroom.  He flung the door open and said sternly, “All right, enough is enough; you'll be lying there all day if I let you.  Time to get up; we're going to miss the morning collection.”

Again, the Doctor saw a hand wave in his direction.  “Five more minutes . . .”

“You said that over half an hour ago.  Come on, Jothan—it's well past time to be out of bed.”  The Doctor's tone was disapproving.

“I'll be there, I will . . . five more minutes.”  The hand waved again, dismissing the Time Lord.

The Doctor strode into the room and yanked the covers back.  The medic responded by curling up in a fetal position.  “Do we really have to go now?” the younger man asked lethargically.  

Now the Time Lord was troubled.  He'd never had such trouble getting Jothan to get up.  Usually all he had to do was mention where they were going and the medic was ready.  “Jothan, sit up,” he said, concerned.

The medic did not move.

“Jothan, sit up,” the Doctor repeated, sitting down on the edge of the bed and giving his companion a shake.  “You're not yourself this morning, not at all.”

It took a few more shakes but eventually the younger man sat up.  His face was pale and his eyes were dull and lifeless.  He tried reaching for the covers again saying sleepily, “Whatever it is, it can wait.  I'm too tired . . .”

“No, it can't,” the Doctor said decidedly.  “You're going straight to the Medical Center, and no arguments either!”  He got up from the bed and took his friend firmly by the arm.

The medic swung his feet around until they were on the floor, but it took several tries before he was able to stand.  He lurched up and followed the Doctor to the infirmary, his eyes only half-open.  Once they got there he lay down on the exam table and curled up again.  “Can I sleep now?” he asked.

The Time Lord shook his head.  “You've got to lie flat while I scan you.  There's definitely something wrong, and I need to know what.  Come on, Jothan, you know this has to be done . . .”

Blearily Jothan laid down flat on the exam table.  The Doctor started the scan, which took about eight minutes.  When he was done he went to tell Jothan he could move and found that the medic was asleep again.  Surprised, he left the younger man alone until the results popped up.  The Time Lord looked over the results then sighed mightily.  He shook Jothan by the shoulder.  “Jothan, wake up.  I know what's wrong with you . . .”

Jothan finally he responded by sitting up.  “Can I go back to bed now?” he asked.

“You're going to have to, as a matter of fact,” the Doctor told him.

The medic looked up at the Time Lord, rubbing his eyes.  “There's really something wrong?”

“You have systemic atrinosis.”  The older man looked grim.

Jothan looked confused.  “Never heard of it.  Is is serious?  What medicine can you give me?”

The Doctor sighed.  “There's medicine, but by now it will just prevent the infection from getting worse.  You'll need bed rest for the next five to seven days.  Good thing we caught it when we did; if we don't treat it now you'll be sick for months once it starts attacking your immune system, or worse.”

Jothan yawned again.  “So I'm stuck in bed for a while.”  He suddenly looked up and asked worriedly, “Who's going to do the cooking and cleaning and the laundry?  I can't be sick that long . . .”

“I'll do whatever needs doing,” the Doctor declared.  

“You'll never manage,” Jothan mourned.  “You told me before that your companions were the ones who did all that, while you worked on the TARDIS and in the workshop and the lab.”

The Time Lord was firm.  “Jothan, I have been alive for over nine hundred years—I can take care of things for a week without you.”

“We're doomed,” Jothan groaned.  “Nothing's going to get done properly.”

“Do you have that little faith in me?”  The Doctor was insulted.

“You've no experience with this side of things,” the medic protested.  “You've always told me you don't do domestic . . .”

“Genius, me.  I can pilot a TARDIS with my eyes closed and re-route a computer's memory banks with one penlight and a pair of snipping pliers.  I can certainly manage a load of laundry or two.  Now, to bed with you; you'll need your rest.  I'll make you breakfast—what would you like to eat?  You'll need to keep your strength up to fight off the infection.”  

“I'm not hungry, thank you,” Jothan yawned again.  “Right now, all I can think of is bed.”

“I'll bring you something soon,” the Time Lord promised, giving Jothan a quick injection.  “Back to your room for now.”  

He waited until Jothan was on his way, then ran his fingers through his short hair.  The Doctor hadn't been lying about his skills, but he wasn't exactly telling the truth either.  When he was alone in the TARDIS he used the nutrient pill dispenser instead of actually cooking food beyond toast and making tea.  Still, he reasoned that it couldn't be that hard to prepare simple meals.  He walked down the hall and into the kitchen, surveying the scene.  On the far wall was a toaster, a hyper-wave, and several other gizmos sitting on a counter.  The stove was next to the counter, followed by some cabinets and drawers, with the stasis box just beyond.  On the left side of the room was a deep double sink, a sonic dishwasher, and more cupboards and drawers, with a walk-in freezer further on.  The kitchen table was on the right side of the room with several chairs spaced around it, and there was a bookshelf with cookbooks stuffed in a corner.  All and all it was a culinary masterpiece.  He went over to the stasis box and started searching for breakfast items.  

Within minutes the Time Lord had found eggs and bacon, just right for what Jothan needed.  He then rummaged through the cupboards under the counter until he found a frying pan.  He decided he would fry the bacon and cook the eggs in the hyper-wave rather than boiling them in water.  He put the eggs straight in the hyper-wave shells and all, then found the bread for toast.  Just then he remembered the bacon.  He stuck it in the frying pan, placing the pan on the stove and turning it on.  Pleased that he had managed so well, he went to a cupboard and looked for jams and marmalades.  He decided Jothan would like raspberry jam best, so he got it out and took it over to the toaster.  Just then he heard a loud “pop” sound coming from the hyper-wave, followed shortly by a second.  He opened the hyper-wave door to find the eggs had exploded all over the inside of the device and had partially cooked there.  He sighed in consternation, then went to the sink for a sponge to clean up the mess.  There was no sponge in either sink; at first the Time Lord was perturbed, but then he remembered he had last used it to clean up something in his laboratory.  Turning away, he headed out of the kitchen to get the sponge.  

************

Jothan was just asleep when he heard a loud, wailing siren start to go off followed almost immediately by a deep, toning bell.  He jumped out of bed and hurried to the doorway, then dashed down the hall.  There was a thin wisp of smoke coming from the kitchen.  He rushed into the room to find denser smoke as something burned away merrily on the stove.  He quickly grabbed the frying pan off the stove and dumped it into the sink, then hurried to the cupboard for some flour.  He had just doused the frying pan and its contents well with the flour when the Doctor came running in.  “Where in Jupiter were you?!?” the medic asked hotly, talking loud enough to be heard over the din.

“I was—” the Doctor shouted, but stopped when the siren and bell went silent.  “I had to go to my lab for a minute.  I was using the sponge there earlier . . .”

“Leaving a hot pan on the stove while you did it?  There's genius for you . . . what _was_ this, anyway?”

“It's bacon,” the Time Lord replied huffily.

“That's charcoal, that is,” Jothan snapped.  “You couldn't wait to get the sodding sponge?”

“I needed it for the . . .”  The Doctor shut his mouth, not wanting to admit he'd had a misfortune with the eggs as well.

Jothan said angrily, “I _told_ you there would be trouble—not even ten minutes and you're trying to burn the place down!”  He stopped, then said in a different tone, “Look, Doctor, it's obvious you're going to need me to—”

The Doctor cut him off.  “Just a mishap, a minor mishap . . . could have happened to anyone!”  He took Jothan by the arm and pulled him gently out the door.  “Nothing to worry about.  Now you get back into bed; you need to sleep.”  He escorted the medic back to his bedroom, telling him brightly, “Just leave it to me; things will be fine, no cause for alarm . . .”

Jothan sighed, but let the Doctor tuck him under the covers.  In a minute or so he was asleep again.  The Doctor stole out of the bedroom and shut the door softly behind him, then leaned up against the door, his face grim.  He would have to clean up the mess and start over on breakfast, but first he had to find some way to reassure the TARDIS that there would be no more repeat performances or he might get locked out of the kitchen altogether.  He was not looking forward to any of it.

************

Several hours later Jothan felt someone shaking him awake.  “Here Jothan, here's some breakfast.  Or, lunch, rather . . .”

Jothan sat up and looked down at the plate.  There was an untoasted cheese sandwich along with a peeled tangerine and a mug of tea.  He was too tired to comment, so he ate without speaking.  He did notice however that the Time Lord seemed to have lumps of what looked like porridge in his shirt.  Still, he had been brought food and he wasn't about to complain.

Once he was done eating, he told the Doctor, “Are you sure you don't need me?  I could get something started, then go back to sleep after . . .”

The Doctor shook his head firmly.  “I have everything under control.  Dinner will be in a while—chicken with vegetables.  You'll really enjoy it, just you wait!  In fact, I'd better get back at it.”  He gave Jothan a quick kiss, then picked up the tray.

Once he was back in the kitchen, the Doctor growled in exasperation.  It had taken him quite a bit of time to clean the hyper-wave, and the failed oatmeal he'd tried to make as a substitute was still sitting in its pot, the bottom scorched and the rest of the contents the consistency of half-set cement.  He still had to clean that up somehow as well as get the chicken started.  Then he glanced down at his shirt and groaned, annoyed with himself.  He'd change first so the nasty stuff didn't set and ruin the top.

He headed down the hallway to the laundry room, pulling the shirt off as he went.  Once there he looked around at the various devices then picked out the one that looked most like a washer, dropping the shirt inside.  He saw a pile of towels and other cloth items waiting their turn and threw them in the load as well.  It took some shoving but he got it all to fit, just barely.  Once finished he looked through the cupboards for soap and was glad to find the container marked as such.  He opened it and found a small measuring cup inside, with several amounts marked off in plastic.  The lowest amount had a black mark next to it.  The Doctor looked at the soap, thought about the sticky oatmeal and full washer, and filled the cup half-full.  He was sure it wouldn't do that much harm to use a little extra, and the shirt _was_ quite a mess.  He dumped the soap into the washer, pressed a likely button, and grinned when the machine started up.  He put the container of soap away then went down to his room for a clean garment.  Once that was done he squared his shoulders, sighed, and went back to the disaster that had been the kitchen.

He was scrubbing out the pot the oatmeal had been in when he caught a whiff of something that smelled clean and fresh.  He would have ignored it but it was an odd thing to have happen on the TARDIS and he decided it would be best to investigate.  He stepped out of the kitchen and followed the smell, and it didn't take him long to find out the source.  There was a puff of bubbles pushing its way down the hall, coming from the direction of the laundry room.  The Time Lord sighed, then tried to get in to turn the machine off.

He took one step into the cloud of bubbles and slipped, falling headlong.  He tried to stand but fell again, now buried in bubbles.  In the end, he had to crawl his way to the laundry room until the bubbles got too high.  Once he reached that point, he called out to the TARDIS, “Would you mind installing some hand rails on the walls?  Just for the time being, nothing permanent . . .”  The ship obliged and the Doctor heaved himself to his feet.  Grabbing tightly to the hand rails he slid his way to the laundry room, getting there just in time to hear the washer stop making noise.  He groaned in frustration, then thought furiously about what to do.  There was no way he could clean up all these bubbles without . . . wait, there _was_ a way!  All he had to do was find something in the lab to make the bubbles dissolve and he'd be all set.  He grabbed on to the rails again and headed back to his lab.

************

Jothan got up to use the bathroom sleepily but noticed the new handrails as well as the clean-smelling air.  At first he thought the Doctor must be cleaning in the bathroom, but when he found it empty he began to wonder.  Still, he was too tired to puzzle it out; if there was something going on he would have to leave it to the Doctor to fix.  Once he was finished in the bathroom he  headed back to the bedroom and ran full-tilt into a Doctor covered with foam, a bottle of something in his hand.  

“Nothing for you to worry about, Jothan,” he was told quickly.  “Just a bit of cleaning, that's all.  Back to bed with you; things are under control . . .”

Jothan tried to get his fuzzy brain to work; where could so many bubbles have come from?  Then he recognized the smell and said soberly, “If you've used too much soap in the laundry you'll have to wash the clothes all over again without soap; they'll need a good rinsing out.  Also, you can't fill the machine too full or it starts to have trouble; I'd limit a load to six of the big towels.  And—”

The Doctor glared at him, but the effect was lessened by the puff of bubbles on his head.  “I'm just fine, thank you,” he said pointedly.  “A bit of cleaning, just as I said.  You need to stop imagining that everything's in crisis.”

Jothan was too polite to laugh and too tired to argue.  “Have it your own way,” he yawned.  Turning away, he headed back to bed.  Once there he gave a weary sigh as he slid under the covers.  He wished the Doctor would ask for help, but he knew that the Time Lord would rather slit his wrists than admit that something was beyond him.  All the medic could hope was that the Doctor wouldn't do any major damage to himself or the TARDIS.

************

By the time the Doctor was able to start on the dinner he was thoroughly convinced the universe had it in for him.  The chemical he used to dissolve the bubbles left everything quite sticky, and when he went to get something to take care of it he tripped and fell flat on his face.  Then he couldn't get up of course, and it took some heroic moves before he was able to grab on to a handrail and pry himself off the floor.  Once that mess was sorted he got the clothes out of the washer only to find they were now a sickly shade of green from a rag that had gotten mixed in with the rest.  He put the soggy, soapy lump of clothes aside until he could figure out how to remove the discoloration.  By that time he was gluey, tired, and very annoyed.  He headed back to the kitchen to be met by the remaining dirty dishes from earlier in the day.  He got them as clean as he could then put them in the sonic dishwasher, this time careful not to overload the machine with either dishes or soap.  He looked in the stasis box for chicken but found there was none; what he had thought was chicken was actually cheese from Kurnlaquiv.  He slammed the door shut, then stalked over to the walk-in freezer to find some chicken.  Opening the heavy door he went in part way, hoping he would be able to find what he was looking for quickly.  At last he spied a frozen bird in the back of the freezer.  Triumphantly he marched in to get it, forgetting that the door wasn't braced.  He grabbed the chicken and turned around just in time to watch the door swing closed, shutting him in the freezer.  The light went off immediately and the Doctor was standing in the cold and dark.  By touch he was able to find his way to the door, thankful that it had a handle on the inside for emergencies just like this one.  He grabbed the handle and pushed but nothing happened; the mechanism was stiff and unresponsive from disuse.  It took a good five minutes of pounding on the handle with the frozen chicken to get the door to open.  At last it came free and the Doctor staggered out only to find Jothan standing in the kitchen doorway, a look of concern on his face.  “The TARDIS seemed to think you were in some sort of trouble.  Is everything all right?  How long have you been in there?”

The Doctor plastered a smile on his face.  “Barely a moment, barely a moment,” he lied.  “The old girl gets fidgety over the simplest things.  Back to bed; I'll bring you dinner once it's done.”  He waited until Jothan was gone, then let himself slide down the freezer door until he was sitting on the floor.  He had been lucky; if Jothan had found him trapped in the freezer there would have been a real problem.  He rested a minute or two, then got back to his feet.  He needed to get the chicken cooking as soon as possible.  He found a roasting pan and put the chicken in it, then looked around for vegetables.  After rummaging for a few minutes he realized the stasis box didn't have any proper roasting vegetables; he would have to go back to the freezer and see what was in there.  With slumped shoulders he turned around to try his luck with the appliance again.

************

  Much later the Doctor finally had dinner put together.  He checked to make sure he had remembered everything, then went into Jothan's room with tray in hand.  “Dinner is served, if a little late.  You're probably still tired but it'll be best to get something in your stomach.”

The medic pulled the blanket back from over his head and looked at the food.  “I don't think I better,” he said doubtfully.  “My stomach really hurts; so does my neck.  Not sure I can sit up for long enough to eat.”

The Doctor looked at his companion closely, then reached for the younger man's wrist to check his pulse.  He then dropped the tray on the floor, pulled the covers back with one smooth motion, and snatched his lover up in his arms, hurrying for the Med Center.

Jothan was alarmed.  “What is it?  Is there something else wrong?”

The Time Lord's voice was tight.  “I have to scan you again, quickly.  It could be that the systemic atrinosis has mutated into something much more dangerous, a full-blown atrinatic attack.  If so I need to get you medical attention at once; I won't be able to get you stabilized here in the Med Center.”

The medic was quiet as the Doctor carried him in and set him gently on the exam table.  He was careful to lie as still as he could while the machine was running.  Once the scan was complete the Time Lord looked grim.  “It's not looking good; your blood chemistry is a mess.  I need to leave you here for a moment while I find the nearest planet that can treat you, but I'll be right back, I promise.”

Jothan nodded.  “Is there anything I should do?”

“Drink as much water as you can; that might settle things down long enough so a blood transfusion isn't needed.  Other than that there's not much to be done from here.  I won't be gone long.”  The Doctor gave the medic a quick kiss on the forehead, then rushed out of the room.

Once he got to the Console Room, the Doctor pulled up the navigational chart to map exactly where they were, then checked the star chart for a suitable planet to head to.  There were several planets that might be able to help, but then he remembered the medical advances spearheaded by a race called the Krynoth.  Their planet wasn't far away, either.  Quickly he set the coordinates, and a few minutes later materialized on the planet.  Hoping he'd landed in the right place he hurried back to his lover.

Jothan was just finishing the bottle of water he had been given when the Doctor strode into the room and scooped him up in his arms.  The younger man lay still; he didn't want the Doctor to have a hard time carrying him.  They stopped long enough for Jothan to lock the TARDIS, which had parked itself in a corner of a clean-looking atrium.  Looking up, he saw that the Time Lord was heading toward a hallway marked “Emergency”, and told himself not to worry; the Time Lord wasn't going to let anything happen to him.  They continued down the hallway to a bustling waiting room, with a fox-like face behind a glass partition.  “Can I help you?” the creature asked, sounding concerned.

“My . . . husband is suffering from an atrinatic attack and needs help immediately,” the Doctor responded urgently.  “He's been sick for well over twelve hours . . .”

The creature behind the glass pressed a purple button on the wall.  “We'll get him seen to right away.  Your husband, you said?”

“Yes,” the Doctor replied tersely.

Jothan looked at the Time Lord curiously.  He pulled the Doctor's head down near his mouth, whispering, “Husband?”

In hushed tones, the Doctor answered, “They won't let me in otherwise; the Krynoth are quite strict about unmarried partnerships.”

“I trust you,” Jothan said, low.  “Will they ask for proof?”

“They shouldn't, you obviously need care right away; you're turning all green.”  He would have said more, but just then three more Krynoth rushed over with a gurney.  The Time Lord put the young man down tenderly and was just about to follow them when a fourth Krynoth came up and put a hand on his shoulder.  “We need some information from you sir, as much as you can give us.  It'll help us treat your companion.”

The Doctor took a last glance as Jothan was wheeled away.  “I really want to be with him . . .” 

The nurse led him away.  “You'll be able to see him once he's stabilized.  Until then we need to know what we can—species, planet of origin, allergies . . .”

The Time Lord followed the Krynoth nurse into a quiet room with several chairs and a computer terminal.  The nurse sat down at the terminal and began typing.  “Name of patient?” she asked.

The Doctor spoke quickly.  “His name is Jothan.  Planet of origin is Sol Three, in Mutter's Spiral Galaxy.  Species is human male.”

“Age?”

The Doctor considered, then answered hesitantly, “Thirty-two solar years, one month, seventeen days—”

“Close enough,” the nurse broke in hastily.  “Any chronic health problems or allergies we need to know about?”

“None.”

“Dietary restrictions?” the nurse went on.

“Well . . . he hates any type of fish or seafood,” the Time Lord was silent a moment, but then added, “He'll eat pretty much everything else.”

“Blood type?”

The Doctor thought a moment, then answered, “A-negative.”

“Why did you bring him in?” the nurse continued.

“I'm pretty sure he's having an atrinatic attack.  He picked up systemic atrinosis, but it got worse before his second treatment of metapyoxidrine.”  The Doctor felt miserable.  If only he'd realized how sick his lover was . . .

The nurse typed some more, then inquired, “Your name?”

“I'm the Doctor.  Just the Doctor.”

The nurse then asked, “Your relationship to the patient?”

The Time Lord tried to hide his impatience.  “He's my husband.  Can I see him now?”

This time the Krynoth stopped typing and looked at him steadily.  “You don't have proper wedded insignia.  No bandings, no tattoos, no rings . . .”

“We're off-worlders.  Our relationship is binding from where we come from.”  The Doctor tried looking stern, hoping the nurse would drop the subject.

The woman looked at him seriously, then turned back to the terminal.  “You'll have to have a proper marriage ceremony as soon as your husband's stable.  Otherwise it's a mandatory prison sentence of six lunar months for both of you, plus a hefty fine.  Can't have unmarrieds gallivanting around.  I'm sure you understand our position . . .”

The Doctor was dismayed.  He hadn't anticipated this turn of events.  “Look,” he said, trying to be reasonable, “I just want Jothan to be okay.  Can't we hold off the ceremony until he's fully well?  I promise we'll make arrangements—”

The woman was unyielding.  “I'm sorry, but we can't let a thing like this go.  The ceremony is  necessary and non-theist centered . . . won't go against any religious affirmations at all.”  She finished typing, then smiled at the Time Lord as she picked up a phone.  “You wait right here, and I'll summon an official to perform the ceremony.  It'll be quick and painless, then you'll be allowed to stay with your husband barring any serious change in his condition.”  She turned away a little as she began to speak on the phone.

The Time Lord put his head in his hands, thinking furiously of a way out of the situation.  He'd never intended to marry Jothan at all but now it looked like there was no way around it.  If he told the truth he'd never be able to see his lover and they'd both end up in jail.  On the other hand, he didn't want something as formal as wedding vows between them and wasn't sure how Jothan would feel about it either.  Even he and his Gallifreyan wife had not gone through a public joining ceremony.

He was still pondering when he felt a hand on his shoulder.  He looked up to see a Krynoth male dressed in brown robes and a pointed hat with various insignia on it.  He twitched his whiskers at the Time Lord, then held out a furry hand.  “I am Magistrate Denlow, and I'll be performing your marriage ceremony.  You are?”

The Doctor sighed, then held out his own hand.  “I'm the Doctor, and I assure you this isn't necessary.  Jothan and I have been joined for so long—”

The man held up his hand, interrupting smoothly, “Then I'm sure this will be no trouble at all for the two of you.  Think of it as a vow renewal, if you wish.  Now we'll go back to the waiting room until we can see your husband.”

Morosely, the Doctor sat down in a chair, the magistrate beside him.  “I'm sure your husband will be just fine,” the Krynoth assured calmly.  “They do good work here.  And you don't have to be nervous about the ceremony; I'm not a theist myself.  What is your planet of origin?”

“I'd rather not get into that, but Jothan's from Sol Three, the year Delta 4319.”

The magistrate sounded cheerful.  “Never been to Sol Three before myself, but everyone knows how many colony worlds they spread out to . . . humans pop up everywhere.  Wouldn't be surprised if we Krynoth aren't an off-shoot, though the purists would have us think otherwise . . . but of course, that's of no interest to you.  You just want your husband well again.”

The Doctor nodded, but remained silent.  He was still trying to think up a plan to avoid his coming nuptials.  Perhaps he could create some diversion . . . but no, even if he could attract the magistrate's attention elsewhere he'd still be stuck.  They weren't going to let him in to see his lover before he was stable, and Jothan would need medical care more advanced than he could get on the TARDIS even if they could get there.  He ran through scenario after scenario but couldn't think of possible escape barring a severe natural disaster.  Glumly he stuck his hands in his pockets and found the psychic paper.  A sudden plan came to mind.  He flashed the paper at the man and said quickly, “I just remembered . . . Jothan and I have a marriage waiver.  Look, it's right here.”

Magistrate Denlow glanced at the psychic paper, then shook his head.  “I'm sorry, but we don't accept temporary waivers any more.  Too many couples were dodging the ceremony by sneaking off.  Might have been good a month ago, but there's been a crackdown since then.”  The Krynoth's muzzle twitched and he gazed steadily at the Time Lord.  “If I didn't know better, I'd think you were afraid to marry your husband again.”

The Doctor flushed.  “I just don't see the need for it . . . once was enough for us.”

The official patted the Time Lord's shoulder.  “It's easier the second time, trust me.  No pretenses or showing off for the relatives this go-round.  Just you, your husband, and I.  Not having second thoughts or anything, are you?  This would be a terrible time to get cold feet, especially considering your husband's condition and how long you've been married already.  That leads me to ask, just how long _have_ the two of you been married?”

“Four months,” the Doctor lied smoothly.

The magistrate beamed.  “You see?  Barely out of the newlywed stage, you are.  Still so many exciting things in store, but you're used to each other's quirks and habits.  It's a bit early for the usual renewal of vows, but the rules are the rules.  Just remember this isn't a show or production like your original ceremony might have been.  It's small, intimate, and uncomplicated.”

The Doctor put the psychic paper back in his pocket, then rubbed his hands over his face a few times.  More than anything he wanted to be at Jothan's side, even if all he could do was hold his hand.  He hoped his companion wouldn't be angry or get upset; after all, it wasn't like it was going to be a _real_ marriage.  Nothing between them would change just because they said a few words . . . would it?

************

Jothan wondered what was taking the Doctor so long.  There had been a flurry of activity for the first half-hour as the doctors and nurses examined him and started treatment, but for the last ten minutes or so he'd been alone.  He reasoned he must be doing all right if they'd left him, so why wasn't the Time Lord allowed to be with him?  He waited until a nurse came in to check something and asked, “Excuse me, how soon can I see my . . . husband?  I'm sure he's worried sick over me.”

The nurse patted his hand and replied, “We're going to get you settled in a regular room first, but then you and your husband can go through the marriage ceremony and you'll be all set.  You'll have to stay here a few days until we're sure you're recovering well . . .”

Jothan sat up a bit.  “Marriage ceremony?  What's that for?  We're already married . . .”

The nurse adjusted the medication drip, then answered, “It's standard policy.  Any couples without proper marriage symbols such as bandings, piercings, rings, or other signs are given the ceremony right here.  Saves a lot of looking up files and all that nonsense.”

Jothan panicked.  What must the Doctor think of this?  Maybe if he made a big enough scene they would change their minds . . .  He sat up fully and shouted, “I'm not about to get married to anyone in the state I'm in!  For Jupiter's sake, I'm in a _paper gown,_ of all things!  Where's the flowers?  Where are my attendants?  What about the cake—I'm not about to get married without cake!  This isn't even a proper venue for a wedding, not to mention the reception.  And I'm _sick_ , on top of everything else!  I refuse to look ill in the pictures . . . I won't have it . . .”

The nurse was trying to calm him down but Jothan was on a roll.  He got right off the exam table all the while ranting and raving about tuxedos, organ music, and the lack of wedding mints.  The overwhelmed nurse hastily pushed a button, summoning more aid.  Within minutes several of the medical staff had returned him bodily to the table, and Jothan found himself in soft restraints.  He didn't stop though; he thrashed and yelled and put up the biggest fuss he could.  At last someone did something useful and brought in the Time Lord along with someone in brown robes and a funny hat.

As soon as Jothan saw his lover he reached out his arms as far as he could and wailed, “They want us to get married again, as in _right now_!  We have nothing—no photographer, no proper clothes, no—” 

“Jothan, calm down this minute!” the Doctor commanded.

The medic hushed and stopped struggling.

The Doctor came up and took Jothan's hand.  “You can't let yourself get so upset, Love—it's not good for your condition.”

“But getting married here—it would take weeks to prepare the ceremony, even a simple one, and I'm in no state for it.  And just imagine how my family will feel if they're not invited . . .”

The Krynoth in the funny hat came forward then, wringing his hands.  “I can understand your feelings, and we don't mean to upset you . . .”

“Of course I'm upset!  Our wedding took eleven months worth of planning!”  Jothan started to struggle again.  “And now you expect me to do it all over again for you lot, without so much as a basket of mints?”

The Doctor's voice went hard.  “Enough, Jothan,” he said quietly.  “You're stressing your body terribly.”

The Krynoth in the funny hat spoke again.  “Doubtless your marriage preparations are different than ours, but you've got to remember this is not intended to be a lavish affair.  It's you, your husband and I, very private and non-offensive.  You don't even have to call it a wedding if you prefer not to.  You can call it a promise-sharing, or a re-commitment . . .”

Jothan was going to protest, but the Time Lord squeezed his hand warningly.  He turned his face away and said grumpily, “I suppose if I must . . . let's get it over with.” 

In actuality it wasn't as bad as Jothan had envisioned.  There was a promise of loyalty and of service one to another, and then a promise of full openness and honesty.  The official took a blood sample from each of them and pressed them to the paper he took out of his robes.  “I'll get a copy made immediately for you; we have to keep the original document.  And these are wedding bandings,” he continued, taking wrist bands out of his robes and handing them to the Doctor.  The Time Lord put one on, then slipped one over Jothan's wrist as well.  The medic was released from the restraints, and the hospital personnel went back to their duties after giving Jothan a thorough exam. 

“You'll be moved to a proper room in an hour or so once your heart rate's down,” one of the doctors promised as he left.  “For now just concentrate on being calm and relaxed.”

Jothan watched the last of the staff leave, then sighed.  “I did all I could to get us out of it . . .”

“You did far too much,” the Doctor complained.  “All that stress isn't good for someone in your condition.  Besides, it's not like they had us do anything objectionable.  On some worlds they require immediate consummation of the marriage, in front of witnesses.  And on Prinda—” 

“I'm not concerned about other planet's weddings; I'm thinking of our own,” Jothan groused.  He was silent a minute or two then burst out, “Do you mind, really?  I mean, do things have to change between us now that it's official?  I don't want this to mean you feel tied down or trapped, and I don't want it to mean more than it has to.”

The Doctor smiled, and stroked Jothan's hand.  “Nothing has to change on my account.  My feelings for you haven't changed, and wouldn't change because of a few promises.  I do intend to keep them, though.”

“As do I,” Jothan agreed.  He cleared his throat then inquired, “Did you and your wife have a big ceremony?” 

“No, as a matter of fact,” the Time Lord said musingly.  “It was supposed to be a huge social occasion but a row came up between our families about something and we just canceled the whole affair.  We filled out the requisite forms, sent them back, and called it an end.” 

“So,” Jothan asked shyly, “In a way, this was your _first_ wedding?”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”  The Doctor let go of the medic's hand and went to get a chair from the corner of the room.  “Now you lie quiet for a bit.  Your heart rate's still elevated . . .”

“Just one more question,” Jothan pleaded.

“What is it?”

Jothan got a mischievous look in his eyes.  “Where's the honeymoon?” he asked coyly.

 

************ Story to follow:  Desire  ************

 

 


End file.
